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Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet, wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me. In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate, wherever we roam. To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore, Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more, I will fly with my Coulin and think the rough wind Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes, And hang o'er thy soft harp as wildly it breathes; Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.
V. Herbert sets stanza 1
Text Authorship:
- by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852), "Tho' the last glimpse of Erin", appears in Irish Melodies, first published 1808 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Victor Herbert (1859 - 1924), "Tho' the last glimpse of Erin", first performed 1908, stanza 1 [ voice and piano ], from The Bards of Ireland, no. 5 [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Frederick M. May (1911 - 1985), "Tho' the last glimpse of Erin" [ orchestra ], unpublished [sung text not yet checked]
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in German (Deutsch), a translation by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist [an adaptation] ; composed by Max Bruch.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Bien que je voie avec tristesse", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2007-11-19
Line count: 12
Word count: 118
Bien que je voie le dernier reflet d'Erin avec tristesse, Partout tu ressembleras à Erin pour moi ; En exil, ta poitrine sera encore ma patrie, Et tes yeux seront mon ciel où que nous errions. Vers les ténèbres de quelque désert ou froide côte rocheuse, Là où le regard de l'étranger ne nous hantera plus, Je m'envolerai avec mon Coulin et trouverai le vent mauvais Moins rude que les ennemis menaçants que nous laissons derrière nous. Et je verrai ta blonde chevelure gracieusement déroulée Et tombant sur ta douce harpe au souffle indomptable, Sans craindre que l'impitoyable saxon n'arrache Une seule corde de cette harpe, ni une boucle de ces cheveux.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2014 by Pierre Mathé, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852), "Tho' the last glimpse of Erin", appears in Irish Melodies, first published 1808
This text was added to the website: 2014-04-16
Line count: 12
Word count: 111